Sickness and Health
by Mad-Eyed Owl
Summary: Mae's sick. Sick as all Hell. And Raph's the one who stays back and makes sure she's OK. Rated T for language - introducing MAE! Please get back to me with reviews.


Mae was sick.

Mae had been sick all week. Some sort of bug. At least according to the doctor, but Raph didn't trust doctors. Not now, at least, with Mae so sick. It couldn't be "just a bug".

The problem with Mae was that she saw sickness as a weakness, and she _hated_ looking weak. So when she got sick, she wouldn't do anything about it. Sickness would get worse, Mae would deny it even existing, sickness got worse still, Mae would die.

Maybe not that bad. But still.

Raph had been able to sense that something hadn't been quite right for days, but Mae had just snapped at him and said she was fine. Even when he caught her sleeping at the computer with her head on the keyboard, prompting rows of random symbols to gallop in a blind panic across the screen, she'd pushed him away and told him to worry about something else.

Three days ago, she went to school, passed out in the middle of a Biology lesson, and had to come home. She'd spent three and half hours in the bathroom throwing up, and had fallen asleep in April's bed. She got up the next morning, staggered to the couch and fell asleep again, and hadn't been able to wake up without external stimuli ever since.

April said that if Mae got any worse, she'd take her to hospital. Mae would have freaked if she'd been awake. Raph could hear it: "You're not fucking serious! I'm _not_ going to a freaking hospital! I don't _need_ a hospital! I _hate_ hospitals! Blah blah blah I think I'm invincible-blah!"

Now _that_ was funny. Raph was even starting to miss Mae's tantrums.

Even so, he didn't like this Sleeping Beauty of Mae. She didn't look like Mae – she lacked Mae's glowing cheeks and her cannibal-crazy grin. Instead, this Mae had a sweaty, pasty, pale look, with two angry red splats of colour rising from each cheekbone. Her dark eyelashes had lost their thickness – they looked lost, perched on the ends of her eyelids as though they were going to fall off. Even her hair had lost its' sheen, and collapsed on her pillows in dead ringlets. And Mae continued to sink into her unending sleep.

"Contemplating your muse?"

Jeez. He almost had a heart attack. Donny had managed to get right behind him and he hadn't even heard.

"My what?"

Donny motioned to the slumbering heap that Raph had been examining only a few moments before. "Your muse. Mae. You watch her a lot."

"What else is there to watch?"

There was a rare spark of cheekiness in Donny's eye. "You haven't watched NYPD Car Chases ever since she got sick."

"What's that got to do with anything?" For some reason, Raph was feeling very uncomfortable. That, and pissed off. He wasn't one who enjoyed mind-games.

Donny just shrugged. "Nothing. You seem sort of worried about her, that's all."

"And you aren't?"

"Of course I am. I just don't watch her like you do. Admit it, you're like an apprehensive hen – you _like_ her, you should just say it."

Raph grunted. He did that when he couldn't be bothered with getting up and arguing. Or when he couldn't find a good line that he could argue with. Donny got the picture and left him alone after that.

Donny was right, though. He was worried about Mae. She was the closest thing he had to a… she was the closest thing he had. As anything. A friend, someone to fight with, a teacher whom he could teach – even a crush. It was all there.

He couldn't stand seeing her like this. It took away everything he thought he knew about her.

Mae fainted on Tuesday morning. Now it was Friday night. April swore that if Mae didn't wake up by herself on Saturday, she'd take her to Emergency. She and Casey had a date that night – usually April would have postponed it, but it was their six-month anniversary and Casey wanted to take her out to celebrate the fact that April hadn't gotten sick of him yet. April was torn – stay and cluck over Mae, or go make fireworks with her boyfriend. Difficult. Raph could see her tossing up her options, and had an overwhelming urge to be nice.

"I'll look after Mae. You and Casey go out."

April almost died. Raph put up with ten minutes of gushing gratitude before he suggested they leave. His brothers and Splinter had already left by that point. A deal was made – the lovebirds had to be home by midnight, and Raph had to be home by half-past. No excuses were valid.

"Take her temperature every half-hour," April said as she bustled around her apartment. "Try and feed her something, but don't make it too heavy. Get her to drink some water or she'll dehydrate. I _promise_ we'll be back by twelve. If she throws up, call me. If she faints, call an ambulance. And then call me. We _will_ be back by twelve. Thankyou _so_ much for doing this, Raphael –"

"April." Raph raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna be late."

"Shit. OK. Can you remember all that? You know my number?"

"April."

She took a deep breath. "OK." She wrung her hands and peered at Mae anxiously. "OK. I'm just worried about her, that's all."

"I'll look after her. She'll be fine with me."

"OK." April kissed Mae on the side of her head. Mae didn't respond.

"Bye, Raph." She shut the door and he heard her gallop down the stairs. And then he was alone in her apartment, accompanied by Mae's silent presence.

Raph dithered like an apprehensive hen. He turned on the TV, but immediately turned it off for fear he might wake Mae up. Boredom attempted to set in, but he occupied himself by watching Mae. He tried to wake her up. The first time didn't work, but he wasn't put off and tried again a few minutes later. He held her shoulders and murmured in her ear. "Wake up, Mae. You gotta lot of living to catch up on."

Mae twitched. Raph couldn't tell if it was a dream or something else. Twitch. Again.

Suddenly Mae opened her eyes and made a sound. A sort of "guh" sound. Even her eyes had lost their lustre. She blinked a few times, then closed her eyes and made the "guh" sound again.

Raph checked her temperature, like April told him. He didn't even need the thermometer to know that she was far too hot – he could feel the heat radiating off her face. And yet she was curled up on the couch under a heavy blanket. Was April _nuts_?

He pulled the covers away from Mae's body and picked her up, cradling her on his lap like she was a little girl. From this close, she even smelt different. This Mae smelt repugnant. Poor Mae. The words didn't go together properly.

She'd been sweating – her cotton pyjamas were soldered to her back. Her head lolled on his shoulder, and her breath damp and sick. Poor Mae. Poor Mae.

She made a grunting noise. Now _that_ was a familiar sound. She sighed next, through her nose. Eyelashes flickered. Head rocking. The waking-up ritual. He'd watched it before and knew it by heart.

Mae opened her eyes again, and her pupils widened. Some intelligent flame fed off the things she saw in the back of her retina. A small flicker of unsick Mae crawled into her gaze.

Raph realised that she was staring at him without a single spark of recognition. "Awake?" he prompted her, hoping she'd somehow spring to her senses.

She continued to stare, brow furrowing. Cogs clicked over slowly in her head. Hot. Not well. Light. Body. Raph's face. Secure?

You're stupid, said the little unsick Mae in sick Mae's head. You're really, really stupid and I'm not going to talk to you.

"Nnnmmmm…?"

What kind of word is that? said the little unsick Mae. Pull yourself together! Jeez! I'll slap you!

Sick Mae pulled her head up and did what she was told. Pull self together. Right. Where am I?

It sort of tumbled out of her mouth in a blur. "W'rr'm I?" In her mind's eye, sick Mae could see unsick Mae banging her head on a brick wall. Her brain was working just fine – it was her body that needed the fine-tuning.

Raph's voice rumbled overhead, far louder than it usually was. "You're at April's place. You've been sleeping for… for a long time."

"Uh-huh."

_There_ we are, said unsick Mae, clapping her hands delightedly. Sprinkle in some of that Mae attitude! Reply in grunt form! Pretend its' not worth talking about!

Sick Mae gave unsick Mae a mental clout on the head. Screw it. She felt too sick to try and give any Mae attitude.

It suddenly came to her attention that she was sitting in Raph's lap. A bit of a nasty surprise. But she didn't need to say anything, because Raph was already easing her off his lap and sitting her up next to him. Perhaps he'd sensed her discomfort.

Maybe she'd sensed his.

"You want anything to eat?"

Just that simple question made her want to throw up. Her body was starving, but it didn't call for food. It was concentrating on more important things.

"No…" Her head-shake was slow. "No, I can't eat." Faster head-shakes. It took some effort.

Raph looked at her with the same expression that he wore when Mikey displayed intellectual activity. Maybe it was concern. Or confusion. "You're hungry, though. You need food." His expression changed to resolve. "I'm getting you something to eat."

"Raph, I don't wa –"

"I'm getting you something to eat." He got off the couch and went to the kitchen. "Something to eat."

Mae thought helplessly of a mountain of food. He'd try to shove it down her throat if he had to – it was his way. She tried to inhale to protest, but paused as she detected a strange smell in the air.

Oh. My. Holy. Hell, said the little unsick Mae. You're stupid _and_ you stink. I am _not_ talking to you.

Piss off, said sick Mae.

She hauled herself off the couch and staggered to the bathroom. The door obligingly shut itself behind her, and she gazed at the girl in the mirror.

Mae had always been a little narcissistic. Not overwhelmingly so, but just proud of her body. She knew she was gorgeous, and she also knew that the people she met knew the same thing. Annabel-Mae, they'd breathe, you are a truly beautiful girl.

The Mae in the mirror looked like she'd spent a week hands-on in a chemicals lab. She was surprised her hair hadn't fallen out, because it sure as Hell looked like it had died a long time ago. It was greasy and matted. Her face was blotchy – crimson slap-marks smouldering over waxy white, covered with a transparent film of what Mae could only describe as slime. Where had her bronzeness gone? Where the _fuck_ had her pretty face run off to?

The little unsick Mae in sick Mae's head gaped in disbelief. That's it, she said. We are gonna initiate Operation Uglyface as of _now_. If this is what you look like when you're sick, you'll _never_ get better.

Unsick Mae clapped her hands together. Shower for you. Wash hair and face. If you _are_ really sick, then at least you can look nice while you're at it. New pyjamas, fluffy white towels and a big warm drink once you're out of the shower. Now move it.

Sick Mae obeyed.

She poked her head out of the bathroom door and told Raph she was taking a shower. She didn't hear him reply, but he'd figure out where she'd be.

She turned the taps and pulled off her pyjamas, chucking them in the sink. Steam rose in ethereal tendrils as she stepped under the jet. Mae liked her showers hot. Boiling hot. She preferred heat, even if it could sting or burn. If something was hot, it was alive. Dead things were cold. Colder than ice. And if somebody you loved was dead and cold, that hurt a lot more than a burn.

Her body jolted and every muscle relaxed, automatically trying to cool themselves down and expunge this new and abrupt source of temperature. Mae's knees buckled and she promptly sat down cross-legged on the shower floor.

The water pounded on her head. Mae couldn't find the energy to grab the soap – instead she leaned on the wall with her eyes closed and let the water and the steam peel off what felt like a month's worth of crap. Her sweaty flesh softened and she wanted to fall asleep. It felt much better to be clean.

A century passed, and Mae found a small reserve of strength inside her. After much encouragement on unsick Mae's behalf, sick Mae got to her feet and reached for the shampoo bottle. She paused, considering. Then instead of just squeezing some shampoo into her hand, she turned it over and tipped the entire bottle over her scalp. She could feel it oozing down to her shoulders, and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

She sank her fingertips into the gooey mess. Mae had always been of the opinion that she had the thickest hair in the New York underground. Her hair was one part of her that she loved over everything else – she'd inherited it from Pa. Thick, black, silken, ringleted – and greatly inclined to oiliness. Mae had to wash her hair every day just to keep it in its' gleaming state. From her earlier observations, her hair appeared to have gone without so much as a comb-over for maybe a week. That called for a lot of shampoo.

Mae scoured her hair with as much shampoo as she could manage. Every scraping of grease was detected and dissolved under her crusading fingers. She would have kept at it for much longer, but she remembered Raph in the kitchen. Making her something to eat. She couldn't keep him waiting. She felt like she'd spent hours in the bathroom.

After she made sure that all of the shampoo was washed out, she stepped out and turned the water off. Her dark eyes surveyed her naked body critically, like a judge on a panel who wanted only the best possible results.

Not bad, said unsick Mae approvingly. You're almost back to normal.

The heat had coaxed the melatonin back into her skin – she was still red and raw in some places, but as it faded her original bronzed complexion reclaimed its' domain. Good. Her hair dripped in limp curls around her face, tickling her backside. She'd have to get a haircut soon – she'd used up about half of the shampoo bottle, and there was no economy in that. One of Pa's old phrases. No economy. "There's no economy in eating all the cookies if you're not even hungry, Mae-Mae." She smiled at the thought of Pa. A first. She'd have to write that down to savour the moment.

She turned to the left and examined her profile closely. She wondered if the netted scars on her side would fade. Probably not. That's what Splinter had said. Almost killed you from the pain, unsick Mae reminded sick Mae softly. You still have to figure out how he kept you alive. Even healed that punctured lung. Gotta wonder what sort of magic he's got hidden in those paws.

Mae traced the biggest one from her armpit, down across her ribs and ending precisely at her hip-bone. Professional. A kill-cut, executed with the sole purpose of ripping her open and making her bleed to death. Like paper in a shredder. She raised her eyebrows. Shredder. A pun. A very good one, too. She was outdoing herself.

She left the scars alone and reached for a towel. Her hair had gone cold, so she chafed the life back into it, tangling it dry. She began to shiver as the sick feeling started to kick back in. The hollowness in her lower belly. Tension in her neck. Too much tenderness. Light pressure at the top of her oesophageus and a twist in her gut as it reminded her that throwing up still wasn't out of the question. Stupid sickness.

She yanked her bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door and pulled it around herself. Fluffy white towel, check. Hair washed, check. Beauty restored – she considered herself carefully in the mirror, one last time. She smiled. Check.

She swung open the bathroom door. "I'm out."

"Jeez, girl, I thought you'd died in there." Raph stuck his head out of the kitchen. She could feel him examining her, almost like he was making sure she was alright. Sick Mae could hear unsick Mae giggling uproarishly in her head. He's checking you out, babe, she hissed. He's _so_ checking you out.

Piss off.

Sometimes she hated her conscience – it was so enhanced since the Shredder fiasco that it often seemed like another person. Of course, it _was_ a person – it was her. But that was the freaky part, almost. It was like talking to another her, but the other _her_ never got sick or depressed or affected by the elements. It was just there, passing comment, telling her how to look after herself, learning and teaching. If her conscience was a reflection of how Mae really was, then Mae must be a total pain.

Raph frowned. "You OK?"

Mae was just standing there, looking wistful. "What? Oh… sorry." She abruptly turned on her heel and shuffled into her room. "I'll put something on, and then I'll be with you." She needed a new bathrobe – not that there was anything particularly wrong with the one she had on, it just bothered him. It made her look small – even though Mae _was_ small. But she never _seemed_ small before now.

Raph thought about Mae, in all her vibrancy. For such a small person, she had a lot of big things. A big heart. A big intellect. A big mouth. A big capacity to love anything, find hope in anything. A big will to survive. That was definitely high up on her list of big things. Even with her entire left side ripped open, she had survived. Things were never the same for her again, but she survived, and she found hope in her survival.

Earlier on, a long time back when she'd still lived with them down underground, she'd recite things called blessings to him every morning. She'd always start with, "I have a heart that beats and a hope that never sleeps." It had been her mantra.

He decided not to add cream to the pancakes he'd made her. His specialty. Mae loved them, and he didn't want to ruin it. Cream would make her throw up, and he didn't want that.

He brought them out to the loungeroom and set them on the coffee table. Maybe he should start doing that. Count his blessings every morning. It seemed to work for Mae, and shed managed to battle her way through the path to Hell and back again. There'd been times when she'd done an encore.

He heard Mae padding softly from her bedroom. She was trying to creep ninja-style, like he'd taught her, but her ankles always gave her away. They crackled as she bent her foot. That bone would never heal properly, said Splinter. Not after the way they'd been broken. Too much damage. "Savage breaks," he'd called them. Mae could be able to walk again, sure, but it would never be the same. Mae still tried – Raph had to love her for that. She was too stubborn to stop trying.

Mae's clicking ankles came nearer. He pretended not to hear, and he could pick out the scowl in her voice. "Don't fake. You can hear me."

He turned around and smiled at her. "How'dja know I could?"

"Your head rises." She lifted her chin to make a point. "Head goes up, like you're listening."

"Least you've got good observation." She was wearing a white cotton nightie. It reminded him of the first time he'd seen her. There was no blood on this nightie, though. Thank God.

Mae shrugged and began to walk normally, ankles quietening. She had a comb in her hand, and sank in cruelly into her locks as she curled up on the couch. Her hair covered her like a cloak. Raph had never seen anyone with hair like Mae's. It was like a precious material all in its' own category. When she'd still lived underground with them, long before she'd gone to live with April, she'd let him comb it for her. It had been to painful for her to even breathe back then. He still wondered how she'd managed to get through that.

Her dark eyes slid over to him and held his gaze. She smiled. "I think it's really funny how that happened."

He hesitated. "What? Splinter healing you?" It still freaked him out sometimes, the way her clever mind worked. Even though Shredder hadn't made her into a total mind-reader, she was still susceptible to picking things up. It had been part of the grand scheme in making her unbeatable. Too bad it backfired.

She yanked the comb through her curls. "Shredder said he wanted me to kill Splinter. I tried, didn't I? I tried pretty hard, and I almost did it. But then when I don't and Shredder rips me, Splinter saves my life. You woulda thought he'd have left me there."

"Sensei's got a heart."

"He must do." She caught sight of the pancakes and clapped her hands in delight. "You're a _sweetheart_!" She seized them and began to tuck in. Suddenly her belly wasn't just hollow, but empty. Hungrily empty.

Mae ate with her fingers, licking them delicately between bites. The comb lay forgotten in the coffee table. Without a sound, Raph picked it up and began to run it through her hair. He knew Mae loved people brushing it for her.

She never said a word. She smiled at him twice as she ate, and when she was finished eating she just sat there with her hands in her lap. Her eyes slowly closed.

Raph saw that she was falling asleep and pulled her towards him, laying her head on his lap so he could comb the other side of her head. She still had a fever, but her skin was cool on the surface. Hot and cold at the same time. He reached over and tucked the blanket around her bare shoulders. Mae didn't stir.

He concentrated on her hair for a while. Her smell was back – her lovely scent of lilies and summer apples. Her hair dried in his hands and he wanted to bury his face in her neck. He kept combing her hair as Mae slept on his lap.

She was still sick. But she was getting better. Maybe it _was_ just a bug. Mae was still the same underneath it all.

Mae shifted, and one arm flopped over the side of the couch to trail on the floor. Raph glimpsed a part of the crisscross tangle of scars on her left side. She'd lived through all of that. Being used as a lab-rat, forced to watch her father's murder, having her ankles broken repeatedly for disobedience, taught how to slaughter. And still, she couldn't kill Splinter. She'd refused to kill any of them. He could still remember Shredder lunging to tear her open. The blood on the floor. Her tiny red heart muscle still beating stubbornly on her ribs.

He'd fallen in love with Mae's strength. And then he'd fallen in love with Mae.

He didn't bother moving her. She was comfortable where she was. He buried his fingers into her mane and twisted the ringlets around them. Then he settled back to watch her sleep.

I need to remember my blessings. I have a heart that beats and a hope that never sleeps. I love you in my heart, and I hope you sleep and dream of me.

For Soul. Ever beautiful even in death. I love you with all my heart, and I miss you every night.


End file.
